


Two Birds On a Wire

by remorsefulrobot



Series: Sammy & The Projectionist [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: AND THE BUTCHER GANG IS MENTIONED, Alice and Bendy are mentioned but they’ve never show up, Gen, Spoilers for chapter three!, au where henry never showed up, this can be as platonic or as romantic as you want idfc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 12:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12233112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remorsefulrobot/pseuds/remorsefulrobot
Summary: “Neither can fly away, so they decide,to watch each other close from that wire.They say they want to escape, but,They are both liars.”





	Two Birds On a Wire

**Author's Note:**

> HI SO MY FIRST BATIM FANFIC  
> I LOVE CHAPTER THREE  
> this is kinda inspired by the Regina Spektor song?? give that a listen, it’s pretty good  
> (also I headcanon Norman my poor boy CAN HEAR but he couldn’t tell henry’s sloshing from his own so he ignores it bc he ain’t tryna risk getting beat up by Alice or Bendy or the butcher boys)  
> also again this isn’t necessarily sammy/norman but I mean it’s up to your thoughts (because I don’t want DISCORSE I AM A LITTLE ROBOT)

He made it, he thinks to himself with something reminiscent of glee. 

Getting past both the Angel and the Butcher Gang proves difficult, but the Projectionist is hardy and persistent. He is bound and determined to see what is beyond his inky hallways and the pale-yellow projections that he’s grown so accustomed to seeing every day. 

The image in his mind of the studio above is fuzzy, at best. He is shocked and delighted at how large the building is, compared to his small, closed-in walls. More to explore, he figures, before continuing his trek through what he can only guess is the Music Department. He vaguely remembers doing something down here. Likely at a time when his memories were not a blur and he had a clear mind. When he felt like a real human being. He scoffs to himself at the notion. He’s had this form so long, he can’t recall when he was ever human. Was he ever human?

His trudging continues, trailing his thick ink throughout the building. 

_///_

Sammy Lawrence always has guests when he’s in the worst of moods, doesn’t he?

At first, he had thought that the sounds of movement nearby were those of his Lord. After an hour of begging and pleading for the Ink Demon to bless him, he thanked Bendy for listening to his pleas, even though the Demon had done nothing. The noises continued, growing louder. He tries to ignore them, but the stomping only got closer, and more aggravating. 

After a particularly annoying bout of stomping, Sammy sits up from the pad of blank paper he was fortunate enough to find, filled to the brim with songs, mostly about Bendy. Grabbing his axe, he slinks away to investigate the noises. If it was bothering him, it was most definitely bothering his Lord, he reasoned. He could kill two birds with one stone, get rid of that dreaded sound, and appeal to his Lord. Maybe he can even sacrifice whatever was causing the noise, Sammy realizes. With glee, he follows the footsteps. 

_///_

Despite having started wandering cheerfully, The Projectionist’s mood quickly spirals downward into a strange mix of paranoia and curiosity. 

He is being watched, and he does not care for it at all. 

He swears he can make out a figure just at the edge of his vision. A tall, inky figure, resembling him in the slightest. When he turns to face the figure, it vanishes before he can even see it. It frustrates The Projectionist to no end, getting more volitile with each time it occurs. 

And when he finally catches the figure, he does not hesitate to run towards it, letting out a threatening roar. 

However, he stops dead in his tracks when he hears the figure speak. 

“That isn’t in your best interest, little sheep.” 

_That voice. He’s heard that voice. He knows that voice. Hearing it makes him vaguely remember something from long ago. Who does the voice belong to? It starts with the letter S. Sandy? No, it’s a male. Samue- Sammy. Sammy, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. That’s it. Can’t be bothered with the last name. No time for it._

The Projectionist speaks suddenly, with a voice he never remembered as his own. 

“Sammy..?” His voice is distorted only slightly, played through the speaker on his chest. 

Sammy Lawrence freezes, taken by surprise. He knows that voice. Though his memories of being alive are obscured, the memories of his coworkers are clearest. This is the voice of a coworker. An ally. 

This is the voice of Norman Polk. 

“Norman?” Sammy asks at last, lowering his axe. He is still wary, but perhaps if Norman can still recognize him, he can go without an unnecessary fight. 

_Norman._ Something about the word seems familiar. It automatically makes him perk up, and The Projectionist assumes it must have been his old name. It brings back a warm feeling deep within his core, and he decides it must be so. 

“Sammy.” He says again, relief flooding his voice. 

They both come closer, looking each other over with each careful step. Neither asks what happened to the other, for both can tell by just one look. Instead, they stand in silence, unsure of what to do next. 

Well, this certainly wouldn’t do for a sacrifice, Sammy thinks to himself. A being of ink is nowhere near suitable, and having an ally around would prove.. beneficial. He stares down at the floor for a brief moment, before looking back up to The Projectionist. 

“Follow me. I’ll show you around properly.” He speaks, before turning and starting towards the door. He can hear Norman following close behind him. He was the source of the stomping, he realizes, and almost laughs to himself. 

_///_

After seems like hours of showing Norman all of the music department and all of his hard work and dedication to Bendy, Sammy Lawrence sits against the wall, leaning back against it to rest. 

The Projectionist suddenly becomes aware of how tired he his, how his legs ache from trudging through the ink, and then through the studio. Slowly, he sits next to Sammy, finding comfort in finally finding an ally in such a hellish place. Wearily, he rests his clunky, metal head against Sammy’s shoulder. The inky flesh, although tense, is warm and nice, and The Projectionist can feel himself slipping into what could only be guessed as sleep. 

Sammy Lawrence looks down curiously at the metal contraption resting on his shoulder, the light from it becoming dimmer and dimmer, and Sammy assumes that Norman is falling asleep. It doesn’t sound like that bad of an idea, he thinks to himself. With a sigh, he makes himself comfortable, putting an arm around Norman. The silence, for once, is comforting. He can feel Norman’s chest rising and falling, and he vaguely wonders how he’s capable of breathing. He decides to inquire about it later, as he drifts off into a dreamless sleep. 


End file.
